Angel Mail And Free Coffee
by WatchingTheAngels
Summary: Unrelated!AU. Written for a prompt in the prostitution meme at spn hardcore on livejournal.  Sam Campbell has been bounced around from foster home to foster home since he was a little kid.  Enter traveling and prostitution.  Mild description


~THEN~

Anything with wings was officially on Sam Campbell's shit list.

After his parents deaths when he had barely been able to walk, a few half assed interviews with way too much gum snapping and enough paperwork to clog a shredder, Sam was placed in foster family one: the Carson's.

The first few nights hadn't been that bad. Nice home-cooked meals three times a day, a warm bed with matching pillowcases, and hugs whenever the woman felt the need to touch him that reminded him of what he'd heard prison was like. Mr. Carson worked a lot and the missus was a perpetual Hoover. Mrs. Carson had a condition that made it impossible for her to bare children and Sam had just been _so cute_. A week went by without incident and everyone seemed to relax into a sort of routine, not that Sam wanted to. The man wanted to be called 'Dad' and that was just _not_ going to happen. Sleep went from fitful to only slightly tense and Sam pretty much let this be his new life.

Then came the nightmares.

The first couple weren't frightening because they were scary or violent but because they were of home. His _real_ mom hugging him made the ones he got from the woman a few rooms over feel like he was suffocating to death on her heavy perfume and coconut shampoo. His _real_ dad showing him how to best hold a wrench and how to hold the flashlight just right morphing the new father figure into a pint-sized douchebag. These were the ones Sam could handle.

As it always happened, when he felt safe, things changed.

The shiny visits on better times turned bleak, dark smoke and darker shadows flew and clung to every speck of light, trying to taint his memories of his parents. He would see terrible things; people dying, people killing. People with black eyes. The dreams didn't seem to end when he opened his eyes though. Even at the peek of wakefulness he would catch a glimpse of dark smoke in his peripheral vision, making his heart pound double time and choke him.

When they got sick of him, or, really, when they got pissed enough from the third picture frame being broken and the second shattered vase, they sent him back. They didn't give a reason and Sam didn't want one. He didn't like them. They tried to make him eat jam.

Foster family two: the Gordon's.

They hadn't actually been that bad, mostly because they never tried to make Sam eat stupid morning crap – he had his Lucky Charms and was left alone. Mr. Gordon had tried his best to figure out what Sam was interested in and what they had in common while his wife made apple pie every night, but it just couldn't work. Martin, their natural born son, would always break things and blame it on Sam. At first he did it because it was funny. Sam knew this because Martin had said so. Then, about a month into his stay, Martin tripped. It normally wouldn't be any more than a bruised knee and a curse word but there just happened to be a staircase in front of him when it happened.

Foster family three: the Franklin's.

Just... No.

Foster family four: the Payne's.

Megan, the daughter, was too old to hang out with him (so she said) and her friends gushed over how cute he was. Mr. Payne was a high-standing doctor that was never home while Mrs. Payne was the not-so-faithful wife she claimed to be. Sam was sent back when they got a divorce.

Through it all, Sam had kept his faith and prayed. When the second family had sent him back, he just figured the angels were dizzy from the prayers he was sending up and once they got everything sorted he would get first dibs on a redo. After the third he thought maybe angel mail was _really_ slow. As he turned fourteen he told the angels to hold their dicks and leave him alone. He was done begging for help they obviously didn't want to give.

As a sixteenth birthday present for himself, he snagged every last dollar from foster family eight's wallets (a combined forty-three dollars and eighty cents), a few changes of clothes and his iPod (conciliation gift from the Payne's), and left it all behind.

The only problem with leaving was that there was nowhere to go. Sam viewed this as a burden and a prize; he could go _anywhere. _Just... getting to that anywhere was the remaining factor.

The answer to the pressing problem came in the form of a man. Well, men actually. For the second time in Sam's life he had a change. Truckers and men with vans or wedding rings that slipped off too easily were more than willing to carry a passenger across state lines or city limits for a price.

~NOW~

_Groove City, Ohio_

Sam held his thumb, however numb, upright with the last dredges of his strength. It had been three days since his last decent meal and he could feel it in the curl and clench of his stomach and thighs. At seventeen Sam felt the pressure of decades rusting his bones every time he moved. Especially today.

The day had gone by too fast and as the sun slid halfway to the other side of the world the cold was setting in. Clutching his ratty Salvation Army jacket closed he held his hand out at a passing Ford.

The zipper had broken two states back but he hadn't had the money to find another one. He had been on the road with Jack from Minnesota on their way to New York when it happened. Jack was a big man. Not fat big, but the type of big that was tall, muscled, and edgy. Sam had been desperate to get out of the beginning of a winter frost and had accepted Jack's offer in an instant. The terms were the same as they always were; some money for a blowjob before the truck moved, and one when it stopped.

Settling in, he took off his torn, dirty gloves and put his fingers against the puffs of hot air that came through the vents. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Jack had handed over the money and instantly began unbuttoning. "C'mere." the man breathed, and Sam did. He leaned over, gently pushed the jeans and boxers down, and grasped the quickly filling cock. After stroking a few times to get the man fully hard, he pulled out a condom, rolled it on, and went to work; licking from the base to tip, swallowing, bobbing his head. The gasps and moans from above his head told him this would be quick. And it was. Ten minutes later there was a rubber thrown from the window and they were off.

Then Jack had to get greedy.

Opposed to what Jack might have thought, Sam was no whore. Sure, he let men fuck his mouth for a ride, but never his ass. That was Sam's. So, when Jack had yanked Sam over the center console and into his lap, tearing his coat open, effectively breaking the cheap zipper, Sam had struggled. Jack threw him out of the cab, his bag landing on top of him, his parting words being on oh-so-original "fuckin' cocktease".

Whatever. What little dignity Sam had left was intact. His thumb might not last much longer though.

"How much?"

Sam tensed. Since when did hitchhiker automatically mean hooker? Turning to face the lowered passenger side window he replied, "Why you askin'?"

"Curiosity. Where you heading?" The whiny voice asked.

"I could ask you the same thing."

The guy seemed to think for a moment, weighting his options. "Three cities over. I can drop you in Columbus on my way through."

If it hadn't been so cold he would have said no. Would have sent the man on his way. It was freezing, it was too cold, his thumb _was_ so stiff he couldn't move it, so he told the man the price. "Fifty for head and the ride. One now, one when we get there."

Chuckling lightly the man said to get in and Sam had never moved faster.

Once he was settled in the man inquired, "How old are you, kid?"

"Old enough."

A few moments went by and Sam swore he heard in a hushed, under-the-breath tone, "Good.".

…...

_Lost Creek, West Virginia_

He really wished he hadn't taken that ride.

….

_Fitchburg, Massachusetts_

Sam was glad to be further away from Kansas, but more importantly, he _really_ glad he took that last ride. The guy had been young, hot and actually gay. Not completely Sam's type (though he can't actually have a type in his line of work),but close enough to actually make sucking him down fantastic compared to the usual.

Now, though, he was stuck in a Podunk town in the middle of East Bumfuck that reminds him way too much of the place he left behind to begin with. But, the guy had been hot. Enough said.

With his eighteenth birthday coming in about a week, Sam wanted to save up enough to take a bus to the next town instead of being a trick's tag along. Also, a bed to sleep in would be nice.

He looked up from the bench he sat on in the city park and watched the people, couples, children, and dogs go by. Especially the dogs. He'd always wanted one but the families that had taken him in never wanted claw marks on their leather sofas or broken glass from wagging tails. No one would want to pick up a hitcher with a dog either. They left messes.

Interrupted from his musings by his rumbling stomach he sighed and stood. Sam had seen a homey diner further up the street when he'd been scoping his way through town. Going in, he found an empty booth and sat, throwing his pack between himself and the wall.

"What can I get for you?" A less than chipper plump bird chirped.

"Um, what's the cheapest item on the menu?" He asked as kindly as he could. After sleeping in a motel a few nights back and buying some necessities, he only had ten dollars. Not even enough for a burger and fries.

The woman eyed him, sadness on the edges of suspicion. Must have a lot of dine-and-dashers travel through here. "Well, the grilled cheese is pretty good. Never had it myself, but the kids love 'em. Coffee's free. Fries are pretty good too."

"Sounds good."

Not really, but he'll deal.

Exactly seven minutes fifty-three seconds later (he'd been glaring at the clock every twenty seconds or so to hurry time along), he had his meal. As he munched he looked at the other customers. Most were families having a night out, both parents and at least one kid, having full meals and definitely not the least expensive. Sometimes, like right now, he wished he had someone to share his time with; maybe even his life. He was lonely and willing to admit it, but only to himself.

After finishing up and paying the bill that left him with three dollars to his name, he thanked the waitress and left. He had made it to the parking lot, his head not in the clouds but facing that way, when it happened.

"Hey."

Whirling around, Sam narrowed his eyes slightly. The guy was big. Like, I had too many milkshakes as a kid big. His eyes were beady, his clothes a too tight fit. What really pissed Sam off though, was the guy was checking him out. The entire up-down thing. Eww.

"Can I help you?" Sam wasn't stupid. If this guy was someone from the town and anything happened, it was Sam's word against his and Sam wasn't going to win.

"I really think you can." That smile was lecherous and disgusting.

"Sorry, already did my good deed for the day."

As he turned to walk away he felt a tug on his arm. Turning around again he tried to reason with him. At least, before he kicked his ass. "Whatever you think you're going to get from me, the answer is no. Now just let me go." When it became obvious the guy wasn't taking the hint and the grip tightened, Sam tried again. "Listen, no. Alright? Leave me the fuck alone."

He tried to pull away, yank his arm loose and be done with all this, but the guy began to drag him toward one of the vehicles in the lot. No way was that happening.

"I woulda payed, but now I think I'll just take it."

"Get the fuck off me! Let me go! You fucking dick, let go!" He yelled, thrashing and letting his weight slow the man down, but it didn't do much. Sam wasn't one to be scared, but he was immensely pissed. Planting his feet and pulling back with all his weight the man stopped a moment, startled. Taking this moment of confusion to use to his advantage, he threw his fist into the guys nose.

Didn't break it. There wasn't even that much blood. Sam really needed to eat more protein.

The man tossed Sam to the ground between two cars, scrambled on top of him and straddled his waist. A few hits into it and Sam didn't even feel the pain. A few more and he was out. If he believed in angels anymore, he would have thanked them.

…...

"Hey, man. Come on. Wake up. Open those eyes for me."

Sam had no idea what was going on. When had he fallen asleep?

"That's right. Don't move too much. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Why was someone talking to him? Sam grunted his displeasure, but the guy just kept asking stupid questions. He grunted again, just because.

"Come on, kid."

Now that lit a fire under Sam. He was no kid, dammit.

"No'a kid." He whimpered. In a manly way. As the vehicle he was in came to a light he felt it slow and stop. "Where m' I?"

"I couldn't leave you there in good conscience so I'm taking you to the hospit..." 

"No!" He nearly screamed. Sam wasn't eighteen yet, they would find him, take him back to the home. Try and find another _family..._ A whine filtered through his lips at the thought of yet another so called mom and dad. Of school.

Opening his eyes he looked at the driver and blinked. And blinked. And blinked. Even with his eyes darting from the road to Sam they were vibrant; a green only seen on HD televisions watched at night. Under those were freckles. _Freckles._ Lips that were bitten from nerves were plump, red. Beautiful. Suddenly Sam felt way too young and small laying down and tried to sit. Big mistake.

"Wow, take it easy. You're ribs aren't broken, but they are bruised pretty bad. That guy really did a number on you." The guy's voice flowed into Sam's ears like warm whiskey, making him feel drunk and again, way too young.

"No hospital." He grunted again, just to make sure he got his point across.

The driver heaved a sigh but nodded. "Alright. But I'm going to keep an eye on you for a while, just to make sure you heal good a proper. Name's Dean, by the way."

Dean. It fit.

"Sam."


End file.
